


Close Proximity

by Guardian Of The Lotus (DistantStorm)



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-06 02:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/Guardian%20Of%20The%20Lotus
Summary: "She's trying to practice what she preached," Ophiuchus informs him.He understands. Moving on is hard.





	Close Proximity

**Author's Note:**

> A little something that wouldn't leave me alone today. We know they began making amends, and they seem amiable enough toward the beginning of Shadowkeep. But I can't help but feel like going to the Moon had an impact on Ikora. Especially considering she's trying to face the future now, instead of wallowing in her unprocessed grief.

In the aftermath of the Cabal's assault on the Last City, the Vanguard made a conscious decision to set up a residence for themselves and as many of their fellow Guardians who wished to reside atop the Tower. As such, the Vanguard themselves currently entertained living quarters slightly offset from the rest of the Guardian housing.

It's both ideal and stifling. Never far to go for a few hours of blessed rest, but sometimes it was hard to check work at the door when it's all around, all the time, and the people with whom they spend arguably too much time with already are only separated by too-thin walls.

Tonight, Zavala does not mind the close proximity of his fireteam, though he enjoys his peace and quiet and solitude. Tonight, his sensitive hearing is able to pick up the beginnings of distress from his partner. Tonight, he is through Ikora's door before Ophiuchus can call upon him, not that the mostly silent Ghost would, until things escalated much further. Tonight, proximity is a blessing.

Ikora sleeps even less than Zavala. She always has, her unmatched intellect and the blessing of Light keeps her going. Or, at least, that's what people thought. Ikora, at her core, is an insomniac of the highest order. Sleep, rest, while she argues that it keeps her from work, the reality is that she cannot switch herself off for a few hours to recharge, no matter how much she tries to. And when she does, usually she finds herself in waking visions, puzzling things out in her unconscious mind.

Never, in all his lives, would he be vocal about her fragility. That is not his way. But she is a Warlock, and a cataclysm of a woman in a glass case.

And sometimes, glass breaks.

The last time he'd been in here was in the week after Cayde's death. She'd woke screaming and he'd let himself in. They had access to each other’s quarters for emergencies. She cried and cried and wouldn't let him touch her, console her, and he knew better, at that point, didn't try to speak. When she'd gathered her wits about her, she'd cast him out, uncaring for what she called pity in his eyes, and unwilling to help him shoulder his grief in a similar way.

She had been selfish, and he, though disappointed and hurting himself, understood. Empathy was never her strength. She excelled at holding a grudge, which was why he’s surprised to find the door accessible to him at all, exactly as it had been before.

She does not like to be touched, and in this state she is far more dangerous than she would be if she were awake. He hears what might be words cross her lips - quiet, restrained (in her mind's eye, he's sure she's screaming) - sees how her fists glow beneath the covers (she's feeling threatened), the way her legs make tiny, stilted jerks (she's running).

Her head shakes from side to side, as if trying to avoid what she's seeing. That much happens far faster, is indicative of her subconscious' torment.

He sits on the edge of her bed, carefully. "You're dreaming," He tells her, loud enough that it's not a whisper, but not the echoing boom that his voice can be when instructing others. "It's only a dream."

That does not work. He repeats it several times, but the sharp, staccato sounds she makes aren't indicative of someone being roused from sleep. Whatever she's dreaming will not release her from it's clutches.

Which means it can only be one person. There is only one thing that can rattle her so, these days.

And, like clockwork, she forces out his name in a pained, guttural utterance. 

_"Cayde-"_

"She's trying to practice what she preached," Ophiuchus says, a soft, matter-of-fact voice at his right shoulder, when she jerks again - as if to shield herself from something - but does not wake. "The effort is-"

Zavala nods. He understands. Moving on is hard. Taking that first step may seem harder than the journey itself. He has lost much, but she does not build relationships like he does. Her social circle is brittle and complicated.

"The Moon did not help. She's," Ophiuchus bobs up and down with a sigh, "Incredibly sensitive to the energies there. Cursed for being so gifted."

When she cries out again, it's not to be ignored. Zavala does not bother with yelling. Her mind is strong - that too, is a curse. She likely believes herself deserving of the torture. Knowing he may very well regret it, he places a hand on her shoulder and her entire body seizes.

He feels the crack of her latent ability, the icy creep of the Void, ready to consume, but it’s inhibited. She hesitates. Another storm-crash of their fallen third’s name falls from thin lips, raw and pained. The Void lingers, though. But she could blow the both of them into the Void for all he cares right now. He will not allow her to suffer alone.

“Wake up, Ikora,” He bids her, sliding his left hand hand against the pillow to cradle her head, the right to her left shoulder, pulling her upright.

She wakes like she’s come up from icy water for air, eyes rocketing open, jaw unhinged on a harsh gasp, body rigid in his hands.

Before he can get the first syllable out, even begin to tell her that it will be alright, she’s sagging forward, hands brought up to her chest like it hurts. He doesn’t catch her so much as she slumps against his chest and the way she holds back her sobs, forces herself to swallow them down hits him hard.

But when he locks his arms around her, more aptly pulling her into an embrace, that restraint crumbles into high-pitched breaths that crest and break against him, desperately seeking release.

Zavala tries not to act surprised, tries not to tense up and give it away. This is a first. Ikora has, to his knowledge, never sought out comfort before. Not like this. Not with anyone. The shock wears off quick though, burning into a deep-seated affection for this woman. They fight, they are flawed, they do the best they can. They might not see eye to eye on everything - or even much at all - but, they are family and will always be.

He draws her in closer and her arms come around his back, slim, elegant fingers clutching the back of his shirt for dear life.

“I tell them that it’s time we move on,” She says, voice shaking from emotion, hitching on a sob. “I’m trying,” Her voice dips low, desperate. “But-”

“I know,” Zavala agrees. She doesn’t have to push herself. “There was just something about him. Even if he drove me crazy.”

Ikora sighs through what might have been an amused breath, sniffling and pulling back. For his part, Zavala does not try to keep her caged in an embrace any longer than she’ll allow. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes, but it feels like an entire lifetime. “I woke you, didn’t I?”

“I was up.” He rises from the side of her bed, not wishing to impose upon her personal space any more than he already has. “I apologize for letting myself i-”

She holds up a hand, drawing back the covers and slipping from the bed in her night clothes, heavy robes to hold back the chill of the cool air. “Thank you.” She looks down, and away. “Even if you might have-”

“I knew what I was walking into,” He says, not quite smiling but amused. It bleeds into his tone. “I could suppress most of it, I’d hope.”

“You should get some sleep.”

“You should, too.”

“That was… enough,” She says, softer. Smaller. Still shaken. Her golden eyes flick up to his own, aware that she’s hardly convincing.

“Do you still keep chamomile tea in here?” He asks, innocently enough.

Her brows furrow. “Yes, but I don’t really-” He shrugs, almost imperceptibly. He knows she doesn’t like chamomile. It’s a thinly concealed tactic. “I’ll probably just watch some nonsensical programming until I nod off,” She admits, though she’ll certainly not fall back asleep tonight, of that she seems convinced.

“Would you like company?”

It takes her a moment to decide, but Zavala’s patient in a way that does not make it seem like she’s being put on the spot. Eventually, she gestures for him to go ahead, so he removes his shoes in the hall and heads to the lounge. An agreement, in not as many words.

He’d made her a beautiful violet blanket for the Dawning, the first one after the War. A piece of comfort, something to curl up with that lasts longer than a single book or a canister of tea. Something fond warms him to find it draped over the chair she reads in, not perfectly folded.

_Used._

“May I?”

She nods, and he settles at the far end of the couch. For the second time tonight, he’s surprised when she pulls the blanket off the chair and brings both it and the tiny remote with her. “May I?” She echoes, informing him, “The couch reclines, if you’d like to get comfortable.”

When he’s leaned back, not quite laying down but comfortable, a pillow is pushed against his side and he can feel the weight of her head resting upon it. She drapes the blanket over herself and curls up. His hand finds the middle of her back, rubbing in soothing, even circles.

The weight of his hand grows heavy, and after a while, his sluggish motions stop as he nods off. But Ikora’s been snoring quietly for a while yet, one hand clasped over his knee, the other barred against his leg beneath the pillow. For the rest of the night she doesn’t dream.


End file.
